FIC: Arms and the Man 5/6 (Giles/Buffy) R

[antennapedia.livejournal.com]

Title: Arms and the Man 5/6
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: R

Continued from part 4.


Buffy slept late into the morning in the deep sleep of a safe Slayer, a Slayer who had her Watcher wrapped tight around her. She was aware at some level that the sun was up, but she was too comfortable to want to wake. The Slayer spirit was at peace already, even if her body wasn't yet satisfied. They were awakened at last by knocking on the door. Buffy stuck her head under the pillow but Giles untangled himself from her. He was politer than she'd have been asking who it was.

"A message, sir, from Sir John."

Giles opened the door. Buffy pulled her head out from under the pillow. It was the black-haired boy who'd been hanging around Ellen, dressed in the neat uniform of the pages. He stepped just inside the door but did not come in any further. Buffy yanked the blankets up to neck level anyway.

In daylight, she could see why Ellen would sneak out to be with this kid. He was handsome, with straight black hair falling into his face and nice broad shoulders.

Giles said to him, "What does Sir John want?"

"He wants to see you now. I'll take you to him as soon as you're ready."

"What's this about?"

But the boy had ducked out again and shut the door behind himself. Giles laid his hand on the doorknob then stood there motionless. Buffy rolled out of bed.

"Guess I gotta get dressed fast. Arm for battle, you think?"

"I believe he meant only me."

Buffy rolled her eyes at Giles. "There's no way. You know that."

Giles smiled at her. "I should know better by now. But I doubt we need arm ourselves."

The walkways and grassy lawns were wet with morning dew. Everything smelled fresh and green and lovely. It was another storybook day in the English countryside. Buffy had forgotten her sunglasses but the sun wasn't the same sun that beat down on her in California. It was mellower. The latitude, maybe, or maybe it was all those fluffy clouds in the sky, scudding around. As they walked, she tried to guess what the summons meant. The knights had reached a decision last night after they'd kicked her out. That was easy to guess. Harder to guess: which decision? She could imagine Conway summoning them over to deliver bad news and kick them out. If so, Ellen would be in their rooms packing their stuff already. they would have made clear that the summons was for both of them, if that were the case. Could it be good news?

Giles's hands were deep in his pockets and he was looking at his own feet instead of at the gorgeous day around them. Nervous, probably. Or bracing himself. Buffy wanted to say something encouraging, but she couldn't with the page there, leading them up the steps and into the house where Conway lived. Buffy looked and saw it: the ramp built over the steps on the side, so Conway could get in and out without aid.

He was waiting for them in a room with walls lined with bookshelves, sitting behind a great wooden desk. There weren't any chairs on their side of the desk, so they stood. Giles's head turned; he was looking at the bookshelf near his elbow, and apparently interested by whatever he saw. Buffy was more interested in the wall behind Conway, where a shield and a sword were hung, not for display, but as if waiting to be used. The colors on the shield were red, gold, and black, and the design was abstract. Conway's arms. She wondered when he'd last swung the sword.

"Mr Giles. Good morning. And Miss Summers, of course you came. I did not summon you, but you scarcely need summoning, do you."

"Sorry about that," she said, in a tone of voice that made it clear she wasn't sorry.

"What's this?" Giles said.

"Miss Summers attended a portion of our debate last night. She didn't tell you about it?"

Giles cast a glance at her sidelong. "No, she didn't. Nor was I aware there was a debate."

Buffy shrugged. "They argued. It was boring. I left before anybody won. Who won?"

"It was a stalemate. The saint himself will decide for us. If he decides to accept you during your vigil, Mr Giles, then you are one of us."

So despite Conway's description, Twombly had won. He'd been the one arguing that the decision wasn't theirs to make. Conway either agreed, or secretly felt that Giles would make the cut.

Giles said, "This vigil-- the vigil of arms?"

"Yes. You may be familiar with a similar ritual from other traditions. Ours is... more real. You will keep vigil over your arms while the Power-- the saint who gives our Order its name-- examines your soul. If he finds you worthy, you will know. If he does not, you will also know."

Giles said nothing, but there went the hands deep into the pockets again. He probably wanted to be cleaning his glasses.

"I trust you are still interested in accepting our offer."

"I am," Giles said. "When?"

"Tonight, at sunset. You have today to rest and prepare. You will need to learn your part in the ritual. It's all here."

Conway pushed a little book across the desk. Giles picked it up and opened it to a page at random. He closed it again and thrust it into his trouser pocket.

"We'll send someone round about five to get things started. The rest of the day is yours. I suggest you read the advice to aspirants and take it straight away. Do not break your fast. That will be all."

Dismissed, with all his usual politeness. Buffy followed Giles out of the building and back out into the brilliant sunshine. Once safely out, Buffy hugged Giles, careful not to squeeze his ribs too tight.

"Congratulations," she said.

"Perhaps."

"Don't go indecisive on me now."

Giles shook his head. The boy, whose name Buffy still didn't know, was nowhere in sight, so they made their own way back to the dormitory. Somebody had been in while they were gone and made their bed. Buffy sat down on it and reflected that she was happy not to have grown up as a page with these guys, because she'd have hated making other people's beds. Though maybe that didn't happen every day. Mostly the knights lived elsewhere, on their own or with squires, just as she did on the Hellmouth. They made their own beds. Sharpened their own swords.

Giles was in the armchair again, this time with the ritual book instead of the Aeneid. He'd kicked his shoes off and was slouching in the chair. Buffy snagged her mystery novel again and sprawled out on the bed to read. When her book bored her, she would tuck her finger into it and watch Giles read surreptitiously. Moments when she could quietly admire this guy without him noticing were rare. Usually he was the one watching her. He was reading quickly, turning pages at a rate she might have found improbable if she hadn't seen him in fast information absorption mode before. He would read it all again more slowly later, and commit more of it to memory than was fair. If she could figure out how he did that, she'd have far better grades than she did. Maybe he could be convinced to teach her.

Of course Giles would teach her. He would teach her anything he knew, freely and without hesitation. That was how it was between them. That was one of the the charges laid upon him.

Buffy tossed her book aside and got up. She perched on the arm of Giles's chair. He rested his hand on her thigh and stroked. "Hmm?"

"Mind if I peek?"

Giles handed the book over to her. It was a lot like the magic guides Willow read sometimes, with color coded diagrams showing the positions of everything. There were two ceremonies described: the vigil and the accolade. The words felt odd to her, like things from the Boy's King Arthur again. Swords and spurs and oaths of fealty, definitely storybook instead of real world. Courtly love and quests and the king waiting for his moment to return from a mist-shrouded isle.

"Isn't this all kind of, um, over the top? Kneeling and stuff?"

Giles pulled one foot up onto the chair and tucked it underneath himself. He said, "We English are more accustomed to ceremony than you Americans are."

"Your judges do have those funny wigs."

A flash of a smile from Giles to that. "As you say."

"Conway's giving you the dub?"

"Head of the order. Traditionally. Though in modern times--"

"What?"

"It would be the Queen. If this were an official knighthood." He sounded faintly wistful.

"It isn't?"

"I shan't bore you with the details, but no, it isn't. This is a secret order. The titles are private, not official. It's a private act. Something between me and the Powers. Or rather, the Power that chooses to invest me with its strength."

"What is that, anyway? Saint George as in for England, Harry, and Saint George?"

"He's the one. A messenger of the Powers, possibly. An avatar. I found something in their library about it, but I haven't had the time to read more fully."

"They said a different Power made me."

Giles's face changed and he touched his fingers to his lips. When he spoke again, he did so slowly. "I'm not sure what made you. I asked my tutor once, when I'd found a thread of something in one of the Watcher histories, but he had no answers for me. Not the same thing, I suspect."

"Nobody ever gave us a choice. I like George better."

Though Giles had chosen it. Twice, more, if this counted as a separate choice. Over and over, even though he lost friends and lovers and risked himself. Sometimes she thought he had as much free will as she did about this. If somebody had asked her now if she wanted to stay the Slayer or move on, she'd pick being the Slayer. And wasn't that a trip.

"Does the Council do anything like this?"

Giles snorted in answer.

"What was that about no food for you?"

"I'm fasting. Only water until tomorrow morning after the ritual is over. It's usual for these things. The magic might make me ill otherwise. But also there's an element of mortification of the flesh."

"That sounds gruesome."

Giles shook his head. "Hardly. It's more of a symbolic gesture. A spot of doing without something I want."

"No sneaking off for nookie with your Slayer, then?"

"Absolutely not."

"Not even if I order you to?"

"I'm not your squire. More's the pity."

"You didn't mind following me around all day and fixing my armor?"

"I didn't mind. Rather the reverse." That last was in a lower voice than before. Giles cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses. Buffy rubbed her nose thoughtfully. That comment had obviously meant more to him than she might have expected. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He smiled at her but made no gesture in return. This didn't faze Buffy. It was true that he had more important things than nookie to think about right now. Though she sort of didn't. She was feeling restless again for some reason. There was only so much sitting around a Slayer wanted to do, especially a Slayer that hadn't been hunting.

"I was thinking of going off and trying out that climbing wall. Want to come with?"

"No. I, I think I'd rather stay here alone. I should like some time to meditate. I feel unprepared. It's all so, so sudden."

"You're nervous."

"I could fail. The saint might find me unworthy." His hand drifted to the inside of his left elbow, then away.

"Remember that I want you. I choose you."

He shook his head, which just wouldn't do. On a whim, Buffy gripped his shirt and tugged him over to her. She kissed him. He didn't respond, but neither did he pull away. She kissed him a second time, lingering for a moment, and this time he kissed her back. His hand came up to rest on her waist and his eyes closed. Buffy tried to make it comforting, not carnal. Then she had a thought.

"Would you wear my favor tonight? For luck. If it's not traditional, it should be."

She took her cross off. To her surprise, Giles got out of the armchair and went down onto his knees before her. His hands were crossed on his chest and his head bent. It was a strangely formal posture, deliberate. It reminded her of something, though she couldn't remember what. She slipped the chain around his neck and did the clasp. He remained in place. He was breathing fast. Buffy rested her hand on his head and his breath caught for a moment.

"When it's over, tomorrow night, whenever-- when it's over, I'll give you a better token. Something you can keep." It couldn't be her cross, because it was too obviously feminine. She would think of something by then.

"When it's over," he repeated.

He rose to his feet and the mood was broken. He picked up the book again and opened it. His attention was already shifting away from her and toward his upcoming ordeal. Buffy took her leave of him and went off to leave him to his preparation.

---

The ceremony for Giles's vigil of arms began when the sun dipped below the horizon. The entire order assembled at the church in town, where the knights had been standing vigil for many hundreds of years. They wore the same somber clothing they'd worn to the funeral scant days before, though many of them now wore colorful sashes across their chests as well. The ones who had been knighted had the sashes, Buffy deduced.

Buffy waited inside the church with Ellen. They had seats in benches that ran alongside the altar. Conway waited behind the altar. His sash was wider and brighter than the others and a little medal was attached to it over his heart. The sign of the head of the Order, perhaps. Or maybe it was like a military medal.

Somewhere high in the church tower a single bell rang and silence fell.

Giles led the procession into the church. He was bare-handed and bare-footed, in a white with a red and black surcoat over the top. His hair had been cut in the hours since they'd parted. Behind him walked Twombly and Whiting, carrying his arms: sword, shield, spurs.

The shield they laid on the altar, the spurs beside it. The sword Giles held before himself, sheathed, with the tip resting on the flagstones before the altar.

A woman Buffy had met once, whose name she couldn't remember at all, stepped forward. She was dressed in long robes of red velvet. The sword in her hand was a fighting weapon but it also dripped with magic. She paced around the circle clockwise, starting in the east and ending there.

Buffy watched quietly from her place beside Ellen. This was real magic in action, serious magic, deep. She could feel it in her bones. It was neither good nor evil to her. It simply was. Magic was power and it could be used for any purpose a human being had. The circle was drawn, the quarters were invoked, tall candles lit at the points of the compass. At the last, the woman called upon the saint himself to come and test the aspirant fully, to try him and find his mettle. Through all of it Giles stood motionless before the altar, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. When they were done, the air shimmered and Buffy heard a sound like crystal bells ringing very far away. A dome rose over the circle, enclosing Giles and the altar at its center. He would remain inside, sealed away from the world, until Conway ended the ritual at dawn. By then he would know whether the saint had accepted him or not.

The knights of the order left the church in solemn procession. Conway followed them slowly and Buffy trailed along behind him. She was reluctant to leave Giles alone all night.

Whiting and Twombly were there on the church steps, as well as Ellen. She stood at attention outside the door. Like Giles, she was dressed in antique uniform, with a surcoat and belt. She grasped a polearm twice her height. Buffy wondered if it was a practical weapon or if she were there merely as an honor guard. Or if it were part of her own path to knighthood, eventually, another task performed in the service of the candidate she'd been assisting.

Twombly touched his hand to his forehead as she approached.

She said, "Sorry about the, you know, pounding."

Conway snorted. "Took that to get it through his thick head that there are beings in the world stronger than he is."

Twombly simply laughed. "Now I understand why he was so set on recruiting your Watcher. You will be a powerful ally for us."

"Assuming your saint guy likes him."

"Bah. A man with that courage cannot fail."

"It is out of our hands now," Conway said.

Whiting sighed. "The ceremony seems diminished to me. Sad, almost. In other times we would have ridden here. Two dozen men on horseback, surrounding the fellow they would make one of their own. Now we are driven in vans."

Conway said, "And our cripples are with us instead of home in bed. Or dead in the field."

Whiting made a sound Buffy couldn't interpret and gave Conway a half bow. "I do not argue with all your innovations."

"Only most of them."

"The dangerous ones."

"It's why I tolerate you, Gerald. Anyway. Miss Summers. Come with me."

Conway spun his chair in place with a single quick hand motion and moved away without waiting for a response. Buffy shrugged at Twombly then followed Conway back into the church. He led her through a door on the side that went through an odd little chapel. There was a statue of a man with a sword fighting a lizard, with a lot of candles in a rack before it. About half of them were lit. They were the only light in the chapel. Behind the statue was a tiny wooden door in the stone wall. Behind it was a narrow spiral staircase that wound upward. Three-quarters of the steps' width was covered by a ramp just wide enough for Conway's chair.

Buffy wondered if she should push him, just to be polite, but he seemed to have no trouble powering himself up the ramp. He was still a knight, though no longer a fighting one, and the saint's strength was with him.

The staircase opened up onto a tiny balcony at the very top of the church. Buffy went to the railing immediately and looked down over the space. The floor was beautiful from above. Now Buffy noticed that it was patterned in the same double-barred cross shown in the diagram in the ritual book, only it was more decorative than that. A tourist could walk right across it and not notice that was a stylized sword, hilt in the east under the altar. The glittering dome exactly covered it. And inside that dome was Giles, enduring whatever it was the saint wanted him to endure. He was on his knees now, in a completely different place in the circle. He was leaning forward, head down, weight on his right fist. He was rubbing his chest with his left hand.

"Hang in there, tiger," Buffy said under her breath.

Conway came up beside her. She didn't take her gaze off Giles. "Nice view," she said.

"I find it useful to know what a candidate does when he is alone before the altar."

"What is going on in there?" Buffy said.

"We don't speak of it to outsiders," Conway said. She glared at him but he smiled at her. "It's difficult to describe to anyone without an experience of the vigil. A conversation with the saint? An examination of one's life. A weighing of one's soul. One sees one's death and either meets it with courage or not."

"I didn't get any of that. Just woke up one morning and blam. Slammed doors, shattered glasses for a while. Also had really weird urges to skewer flies with thumbtacks, just because I could. Nobody asked me if I could handle it."

"Could you?"

"Once my first Watcher showed up. But it was rocky for a while. Didn't really figure stuff out until Giles. He's special."

"Are you two lovers?"

She didn't feel like going into details with Conway. Not that she disliked him, because he had good vibes in all ways to the Slayer sensors within. It was more that it was a private thing. It was her business and Giles's business, and Giles didn't like parading his relationships in public.

"Would you have a problem with that?" Buffy said.

"No," Conway said. "I was attempting to make small talk."

Like hell he was, but Buffy couldn't be bothered to argue the point. Something was itching at her nerves. She paced the length of the hidden gallery, taking care to muffle her steps. Giles looked okay down there, so that wasn't it.

"Giles was controversial, huh?"

"More than usual. We nearly refused him. It's easy for a man to join us for selfish reasons."

"A man?"

"Or a woman," Conway said, easily. "Imagine the Slayer gifts given to anybody who wanted them."

Buffy imagined it, and mostly what she saw in her head was Faith, who had grooved on it. Grooving was okay, but she'd gone from grooving to getting off on what she could do to other people. Not on the job, but on the power.

"What made you decide to support him?" she asked.

"Ah. Our contact in-- never mind where. Our contact sent in his full report on his career as the black sheep of the Watchers."

"So you didn't mind the demon thing."

"If the Slayer had accepted him, it was likely that the 'demon thing' was no longer an objection. Particularly this Slayer. Your file was included with his. It was clear his loyalty to you was untouchable, but was he loyal to a force on our side?"

"And?"

"The Council is not aligned with us. But you are. We fight the same enemy in the same manner."

"So you totally disagree with Whiting."

"Gerald is my conscience. It is his duty to argue with me."

Buffy went to the other end of the balcony and leaned over. There were shields hung on the wall within reach. Each one had been carried by a living, breathing knight who had died. From battle, from old age, from illness, from accident. The nearest one was a deep blue with a pattern of golden diamonds on it. There were dents and scratches in the leather, but it didn't look old. She could sense the magic latent in it. Could anyone pick it up and wear it? She hovered her hand over it. No. It belonged to one person, a man or a woman she didn't know, but its bearer was long gone. Everybody died eventually. She would. Giles would. The question was how.

The scent of the candles reached her: warm sweet beeswax, with incense below.

Buffy pulled away from the railing and paced over to Conway. He considered her, head tilted.

"What?"

"We are puzzled by the Power behind the line of Slayers. It chooses oddly at times. And at other times it chooses... spectacularly well."

"Giles says he thinks it takes risks sometimes. Rolls the dice to see what happens."

"George is more methodical."

"George. Your Power has a name."

Conway fidgeted with his gloves. "His avatar is known now with that name, though it was not what his contemporaries called him. Nor is it what we call him in our ritual."

"Not sure I get this stuff."

"It matters little. What matters more is what he makes of it all." Conway gestured at the balcony rail. Buffy drifted back to it and looked down at Giles. He'd moved again and was now on his knees at the exact center of the pattern on the floor. For the first time Buffy noticed that the points of the cross were at the compass points, and the magical dome was raised exactly upon the line circumscribed around them. The altar was at the eastern point. Was that significant? Probably. Probably she'd never need to know the details.

"So did you lie? When you told Giles it wasn't about me."

"I may have, ah, concealed part of my motive."

Buffy frowned at him, but didn't feel like arguing. This guy was no Maggie Walsh. No Quentin Travers, either. He'd risked his own neck. His own legs. He hadn't paid the ultimate price, but he'd paid enough. She wondered if he'd been angry or depressed or freaked out when whatever it was had happened to put him in the chair, how long it had taken him to get used to it. She wondered what she would feel if it happened to her.

"You may ask if you wish," he said.

Buffy realized she'd been caught staring and flushed. Conway did not seem angry, however, so she dared take him up on it. "What did it?"

"A dragon."

"Holy-- I mean, woah. A dragon?"

"A small one. We slew it, but I began celebrating too early and was careless. Its death throes were my undoing." He gestured toward his legs. "The tail caught me. Shattered both legs. The bones refused to mend."

She felt a little pang. She might get smashed by a dragon the same way, but her bones were guaranteed to fix themselves. Up to a point. "How long ago?"

"Twenty years. I was able to get about on crutches until recently. Age has proven to be a worse enemy than any dragon."

"I wouldn't know."

"You might yet learn."

"I wish."

"It's a dangerous life we lead," Conway said, and he shrugged.

Buffy scratched the back of her neck. Her nerves were seriously on edge now. She paced along the little balcony and gave serious thought to doing a high-wire routine on the railing. She was that tense. Worried about Giles? What would Giles say if he were with her now? He'd tell her to hone, duh.

Buffy closed her eyes and honed. And then she got mad. She stomped over and stood four-square in front of Conway and glared.

"There's a vampire out there," she told him. "You send that to make his vigil more exciting? Give his test some teeth?"

"The trials he faces are emotional. Daggers of the mind. If there is a vampire out there--"

"There is." Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"It was not our doing. Perhaps--" Conway trailed off. He rolled himself closer to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Buffy felt her body shifting into fight mode, almost without her conscious intent. The vampire was nearby now, inside the church even. That was one brave vampire. Buffy looked into the shadows beyond the circle. There it was, moving into the candlelight, approaching the circle where Giles knelt, unaware.

"You told him he'd face his death."

"Yes."

"You know what death looks like to a Watcher? It looks like that."

Giles would think it was supposed to kill him. Maybe he wouldn't defend himself. Maybe he'd go all over noble and resigned. Buffy found herself crouched on the balcony railing, ready to jump down. If she leapt down and broke the circle, he'd fail the test. Better that than die. But Buffy held herself in place on the balcony railing, poised. Only if started to bite him. Only then would she make Giles fail.

The vampire crossed the circle. The barrier sparked and Buffy saw the vampire wince. But the circle did not shatter: the vampire was not a living being. The vigil had not been broken.

Giles scrambled to his feet as the dome shimmered. He turned and saw there was someone in the dome with him. Buffy hovered, ready to move, but the two figures below her were motionless. Then Giles reached inside his tunic and pulled out his cross, the little gold one she'd given him to wear. The vampire recoiled and snarled. Its face transformed. It leered at Giles open-mouthed.

"You're not what I expected," the vampire said.

"Oh?" Giles held his ground. The cross didn't waver.

"No. But you'll do."

The vampire reached for him. Giles stepped back, and again. The vampire would have him pinned against the altar in another instant. Giles held the cross steady before him, however.

The vamp lashed out and the cross went flying. Buffy forced herself not to jump. But Giles didn't need it. He braced himself against the altar and kicked. The sword was in his hand and the next moment was raised. It flashed in the torchlight and darkened, and there was a spray of blood that turned to dust in the air and was gone. Giles stood frozen in place for a moment, then he turned slowly, sword still overhead in a guard position. He was breathing hard, but his posture was solid, ready.

He'd done it. He'd killed it.

Giles knelt before the altar and returned the sword to its place. He touched a hand to his forehead and bowed it, then backed away, still on his knees. His posture had changed from what it had been when he'd first entered the circle, she decided. His head was up, now, shoulders back. Did he believe he'd faced what he was supposed to face? Was that what he was supposed to face?

Buffy slid down from the railing and tried to make herself relax. Her palms were sweaty. Adrenaline rush, even though she hadn't been the one fighting.

"He has been accepted," Conway said. "Look." He pointed. The shield resting on the altar was shimmering. While she watched, it rippled through the rainbow, then settled into a deep green. It shimmered again, and something appeared on it. Stylized lances. Three silver lances on a green shield.

"Giles's symbol?"

"His device, chosen by the saint himself."

Or by some power, some thing that had never been and never would be human, but whatever it was, it was on their side. Buffy decided to be okay with that.

"We will knight him in the morning," Conway said. "You'll participate. He'll need someone to gird his sword on."

He hadn't phrased it as a request, but Buffy didn't mind. She'd figured out Conway. He was doing her an honor by including her, and in his world there was no reason she'd ever have to refuse.

"It is pure formality, of course. The Power has already taken him as one of us. But we do like our rituals."

"Wild. Does George usually summon demons for you to fight during your vigils?"

"No. It is a thing I have never seen, and I have watched a hundred vigils." Conway touched his fingers to his lips. "Could it be-- Tell me, young woman. What does the Slayer think is going on?"

Buffy stared at him for a second. She'd started thinking of the Knights as Slayers but they weren't Slayers. They were a different thing. No vamp sense. Then she snapped to and honed. Nothing in the dark corners, though her Slayer senses were still going haywire because of all the magic flying around. But further out, further out--

"Shit," she said.

"How many?"

"Another two. At least."

"Two?" Conway gripped his rails with both hands. "No demon has dared approach this place in five centuries. Why are they here now? Attracted by you?"

"Attracted, sent, I don't know. I just know they're out there." She produced a stake from her sleeve. "Stay inside the church. They'll come in here if they really want to, but usually it takes them a while to work up the nerve. You should be safe."

"I am not helpless, young woman," Conway said. He shook his arms just so, and was holding a dagger in each hand. Wooden in the right, silver in the left. Buffy grinned at him, turned, and booked down the spiral ramp. Leap feet-first, rebound from the wall, grab the railing and swing her body around, roll and come to her feet running. Through the side room thing, out into the main hall, away from the glittering magical dome.

The great wooden doors swung open silently and the form of a man stepped inside the church. Buffy would have known it as a vampire even without the Slayer spirit inside her straining for the fight.

"Sorry. Services are over. You'll have to come back Sunday morning."

The vampire's face transformed. "Slayer," it said.

"Got it in one."

"I was promised your blood tonight. So sweet."

"Promised?"

The vampire smiled, or rather, bared its teeth. They were already bloody. Buffy cursed herself briefly. She hadn't moved fast enough. She didn't waste time with this one: a flurry of punches to get it off balance, wait for an opening, kick to the face to knock it against a wall, stake between the ribs just so. She yanked her hand back to keep the stake, because she was going to need it. The dust fell to the church floor behind her as she ran for the doors.

The situation outside wasn't good. Somebody was slumped face-down on the church steps. Somebody else was struggling with a vampire. Ellen. She had her polearm wedged up between her body and the vamp, but it was a losing battle.

Buffy tapped the vamp on the shoulder.

"Can I have this dance?" she said.

It responded by tossing Ellen away down the steps. Buffy swore and kicked its feet out from under it in revenge. It went down and came up snarling.

What happened next was what happened every night of the week in Sunnydale: a bare-fisted brawl with a demon. It didn't feel like she was fighting for her life, though if she screwed up badly enough it would turn into one fast. It was tactical. Dance with the vamp until it revealed its weaknesses to her, then take it out. The young ones died fast. The old and canny ones took more work. This one was canny indeed. It had been playing with Ellen when it could have eaten her.

Buffy realized two minutes into the dance that it was nearly an equal adversary. Three minutes in she admitted to herself that it was fun. She could screw up and die at any moment but God, this was exciting. Her blood was pumping and every single little bit of her was alive. She laughed and launched herself into the air at it in complete joy.

It met her mid-air, snarling, and they fell together in a heap. It recovered first. Buffy felt it grip her throat and lift her into the air. Before she could get her stake hand in motion, it had flung her.

Buffy hit the step railing so hard she bounced. Her vision went strange and her knees wobbly. She tried to stand and couldn't. Uh oh.

"Ah, little Slayer," the vamp said. It closed in with triumph on its face. Buffy could smell the blood on its breath. It wrapped a fist in her shirt and lifted her from the ground. "Such a pity. I was enjoying our dance."

"I wasn't. You stepped on my foot."

"I could turn you," it said to her. "You and I could do this every night forever."

The buzzing faded and Buffy's feet started working again. And the stake was in her hand even yet. "Sorry, no."

"Then you will die."

"Yeah, eventually. But not right now."

Buffy jabbed up with the stake. It looked shocked. Its face transformed to human again and dissolved into dust.

She sprang up to a crouch, stake still at the ready, but there was nothing left to fight. Standing up straight hurt. Buffy made a face and gingerly touched where she'd hit the railing. That was going to be one deep bruise. It might even last until morning. And of course she had vamp dust on her face.

She walked slowly up the church steps to where the body of a man lay face-down. She could see Conway there, parked beside it, with Ellen sitting on the ground beside. Ellen was crying.

Buffy turned the body over gently. Whiting. Dead, with a stake still in his hand.

Buffy had long since moved past sentimentality about vampire victims. She felt sorry for them, and that went double for the ones she'd known. But there were things she had to do as a Slayer, and she had to do them now. There was blood on Whiting's mouth and the faintest aura of demon about him. But not enough. The vamp who'd killed him had started to turn him but stopped for reasons she couldn't guess at. Or it had been interrupted. Maybe Whiting had fought back. Fighting back usually did no good for ordinary humans, and sometimes no good even for a Slayer involuntarily turned, but it should have worked for a Knight of St George.

Buffy tossed her stake, caught it, and considered the puzzle of Whiting. The Council had to have somebody on the inside of the Order. Conway had as good as admitted he had somebody on the inside over there. It wasn't Whiting. They wouldn't have killed him. Not unless he'd disobeyed orders for some reason, if he'd turned out to be a good guy after all. Either way, she'd have to warn Giles that the Council was out to get them for real now.

Buffy stood and went to Conway. "He won't rise," Buffy told him. She handed him the stake. Conway turned it over in his hands and said nothing. "Was he working for them?"

"No. That was Alec. I suspected at first your Giles was to be his replacement."

"And you were going to take him anyway?"

"You must learn to play chess some day."

"I don't have time for that."

"You will, I think. Remember me when you do."

And that was the oddest thing he'd said yet. Buffy didn't know what to do with it, or with the exhaustion on his face. The Slayer spirit inside her was restless yet. Buffy stood on the church steps and reached out into the night with those senses, searching. Nearby but fading fast. And nearby, a car engine revving high.

Around the curve came a van being driven by a maniac. Buffy coiled herself, ready to fling Conway bodily away from its path if necessary, but it slewed to a stop half on the walkway. The side door slammed open and six knights leapt out, one of them Twombly. They were all carrying swords. The cavalry, about ten minutes too late. Conway signalled them and they ran off into the church, swords drawn. The van's driver trotted up to the group at the top of the steps.

"You need to leave now. Vampires. On the grounds." Then the man spotted the body on the steps. "Where?"

He started to draw his sword. Buffy grabbed his arm and stopped him. "They're dead."

He glanced at Conway, who nodded. "The Slayer dispatched two and our new knight the other. What were their numbers?"

"Another three at the gatehouse. We were taken by surprise. We'd set no guards at all. We were lax--"

Conway silenced him with a gesture and the fellow straightened up. "Casualties?"

"Everyone is accounted for. But we need to get you to safety. There might be more."

Buffy didn't wait to hear Conway take the guy's head off for that "safety" crack. She held up her hand. "They're gone. There were more, but they're far away now. Can barely sense them."

"Take Ellen to the infirmary. And send someone here for the body. Go. Now." That was said quietly but with force. The man took Ellen's arm gently and helped her to her feet and into the van. They drove off. Buffy watched the van vanish around the bend down the road and listened until the engine noise was faint. The noises of the night resumed: the wind in the trees, the hooting of owls. The vampire-itch was far, far away now. The Slayer spirit had no further messages for her.

No, it had one message left: a pulsing reminder that she had a death to avenge. But there Buffy could no longer tell what was her own urge and what came from the Slayer spirit. Probably it didn't matter.

The church doors opened. Twombly and another man emerged. Their swords were sheathed. The other man stationed himself at the door. Twombly strode over to Conway.

"The Church is secure," he said. "The ritual is undisturbed."

"The Slayer took care of that before you arrived," Conway said, sharply.

"He has his device."

"I am aware of that as well."

Twombly didn't appear to notice. He knelt beside Whiting's body and touched the its forehead gently. Then he put his hand over his heart and bowed his head for a long moment. Buffy turned away and scanned the road toward the town, just to give him privacy.

"He died well," Twombly.

"Perhaps."

"He died fighting. It's all we can ask. But he would have said that you should have predicted this."

Conway made a frustrated noise. "I predicted a breach, but not this violent or direct. Not during our most sacred ritual."

Buffy said, "Have you ever met Quentin Travers?"

"Not yet," Conway said.

So that was what he sounded like when he was angry. Buffy shivered. She wanted to be there to see it when it happened. Could the Knights of St George take human life if they had to? Giles could. Giles had. She hadn't done the deed directly before, though she'd let people die, had watched them hoist on their own petards. Could she do it? The Slayer spirit was silent on this one.

Conway spun his chair and faced away from them. He said, addressing the church doors, "Go back to the dormitory."

"You're crazy. There's no way I'm leaving Giles."

"The Order is here now, guarding this church. Your man is safe. You said yourself they were leaving."

Twombly said, "I'll guard him for the rest of the night, little Slayer."

"You will not. I want you both presentable tomorrow. She's coming to do the deed herself."

"She is?" Twombly laughed in pure delight. Apparently he knew who "she" was. Neither of them seemed inclined to clue Buffy in. "Come on, Slayer. Let's rest while we can. Let the old man stay up all night watching. We'll do the fighting for him tomorrow."

"Go," Conway said, and Buffy didn't mind that it felt like an order. She was tired, and a guy who'd broken his body slaying a dragon had all the credibility anybody needed with her.

Twombly drove her back to the great house, where a worried-looking teenager barred her way through the door with a polearm gripped white-knuckled. It was the boy she'd seen hanging around Ellen, the boy she'd been smooching in the orchard. He held a cross up to her face.

"It's safe now," she told him, but he didn't lower the cross until Buffy had touched it unharmed. Good training. It was nice to think there were other people other there being trained to fight demons. It meant she wasn't actually the one girl in all the world.

He bowed to her and lifted the polearm aside and she went in and up to her room without encountering anyone else. Buffy conked out face-down in bed, still dressed, and slept until shaken awake by Ellen.


Concluded in part 6.